


With Feeling

by Kinthinia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Barista life, Bisexual Male Character, Coffee Shop, College, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Character, M/M, Photography, Romance, Roommates, Roommates to lovers, Slow Burn, University, but not quite slow enough, two introverts sitting in a corner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-10 18:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinthinia/pseuds/Kinthinia
Summary: "This guy. He needs a place to stay, right? Right? And you, you need a roommate. Because I'm moving out, because like, I can afford to? No offense though! You're still my best dude, my main guy. But... I thought it would be way more chill to have a roomie, but like, you're not chill. But don't worry! Don't! Shh. My guy, my friend, he is the chillest dude. And he said he was totally neat, and he can cover the rent no problem. So he's totally coming over tomorrow morning, gonna pack my bags, and then he's moving in!"What. The. Fuck.Oliver's life is forever changed when his new roommate, Liam Harper, arrives. Sculpted by the angels, prone to walking around shirtless, and with the solemnity of a tortured artist, he is everything Oliver could have dreamed of. Except Liam probably hates him. Maybe, definitely, hates him.





	1. The New Roommate

**Author's Note:**

> I'm desperate for feedback. I'm three chapters in, dragging my feet, because "I don't know if anyone's gonna like it!" but the moment someone doesn't like it, it won't matter because _I_ like it.
> 
> Inspired by Call Me By Your Name -except, nothing like it at all. Because I hate writing first-person, I don't like being stuck in Elio's perspective, and as much as I adore the style and prose, I am by no means, a flowery, waxing poetic writer.

##  Part One, Can I Be The One? 

Oliver startled, looking up from the sea of open textbooks and paper surrounding him when the front door slammed open. Henry was completely incapable of shutting a door with any amount of subtlety or grace -and it wasn't a skill that required grace, by any means. He rolled onto his side, tugging one of his textbooks against his side as Henry stumbled in. The man was a walking disaster.

"Hey, Ollie," he slurred. "My man. My number one man."

Great, he was drunk. Of course, he was. Oliver turned to him, smiling placatingly, "Hi Henry. Had a good night out?"

"Oh it was great, absolutely fabulous!" he announced, flopping back into the armchair nearest Oliver's study area.

"Awesome," Oliver said, already turning his attention back to his scattered notes. Where was the one about Durkheim? He'd just seen it...

"I met this guy," Henry said, leaning forward.

"Yeah?"

Ah, there he is, Oliver grabbed the page, jotting down a quote. That was going to be on the exam later, and if he included it in his paper, maybe he'd remember it for once.

"We made this awesome plan."

"More drinking, or dancing?" Oliver asked, grabbing his highlighter to emphasize the quote.

"Neither," Henry said smugly. "We decided, and this is a great plan, Ollie, just wait to hear it all before you say anything. Okay? Like, it's _the_ best idea I've ever had."

Oliver set his highlighter back down, turning to his roommate. If there was one thing that Henry didn't have a lot of, it was good ideas. Henry's idea of a good idea ranged from keg stands, to sudden and wild parties. Sometimes, if he was creative, it involved trying to use a blowtorch to cook a hot dog. Henry didn't have good ideas. Henry had terrible ones.

"No promises," Oliver said warily.

"So like, this is _totally_ advantageous to you, right? Like, I know we get on, but you're always after me about my messes. And like, about that one time with the blowtorch. And like, you're always so _focused,_ so studied, and I'm stumbling around, bringing girls home, and shit. You hate me, when I do that, and I _know_ that! I do. So I came up with this ingen- ingenuine idea tonight, right? Right, you follow?"

He wished he didn't. "Yeah," he said instead, waiting for the shoe to drop. It wasn't going to be good news. Whatever was coming.

"So like, I met this _guy._ Right? And turns out, we went to school together, for like a million years! I just didn't recognize him, y'know? It's been... so long, since we were there. He's like... older than me, and into the game with sticks. Sharp sticks. Anyway! We got talking. And dude, Ollie, my man, my best man."

_Oh no. No. Nonono._

"This guy. He needs a place to stay, right? Right? And you, you need a roommate. Because I'm moving out, because like, I can afford to? No offense though! You're still my best dude, my main guy. But... I thought it would be way more chill to have a roomie, but like, you're not chill. But don't worry! Don't! Shh. My guy, my friend, with the sharp sticks, he is the chillest dude. And he said he was totally neat, and he can cover the rent no problem. So he's totally coming over tomorrow morning, gonna pack my bags, and then he's moving in!"

_What. The. Fuck._

"What do you even know about this guy?" Oliver demanded. "He could be a serial killer!"

Or worse, there were so many worse things he could be. And if he was half as wasted as Henry, he might not even show up. And then where would Oliver be? Stuck paying more than he could afford until he could pick out a new roomie when they were almost halfway through the first semester.

"Oh, his name, he's... Liam? Real cool dude. He's working on his thesis or whatever, so he's chill. He wouldn't hurt a fly," Henry slurred.

Oliver rubbed his temples. Maybe Henry was a better judge of character than Oliver had given him credit, and maybe his apparently new roommate would be better than Henry ever was. More likely though, he was going to be on the hook for the whole rent. Maybe he could make an arrangement with the landlord? No, probably not. He'd signed the lease with Henry for four years. Cash wasn't a problem for Henry, not with his rich well-connected family who could have easily paid for him to have a place all of his own. But no, Henry wanted company, and Oliver was the lucky guy picked out to move in while they went to school.

Or maybe the new guy was going to be a serial killer, and within a week Oliver would be dead. Maybe Henry too. He could only hope.

"I can't believe you, Henry," Oliver sighed heavily.

There was no point in yelling at him, he wouldn't even remember it in the morning. Would he remember that he'd just sold half their apartment to some guy he went to school with? And, had he, in fact actually gone to school with the guy or was he just drunk out of his mind? Oliver was already working one job and doing school full-time, if he had to pay for the apartment in full, that'd require he work at least twice as many hours. He didn't have time enough for one job and five classes as it was.

Best case scenario: the mysterious Liam was a friend of Henry's from school, who could afford to pay his half. If Liam also turned out to be a neat-freak, and kept to himself, that would be even better, but Oliver wasn't going to get his hopes up.

Worst case scenario: No one showed up, Henry moved out, and he had to drop several classes.

Even if the guy turned out to be a serial killer, no way it could go worse than having to drop classes and work more.

"Best idea," Henry slurred, giving him a thumb's up.

Oliver gathered all his study materials and hauled them into his room. Might as well make the apartment presentable if he was getting rid of Henry. A few empty takeout containers later, and most of Henry's garbage picked up, and the apartment was tidy enough. Henry's legendary snores were enough to wake the dead, and he was already trying to revive people from the nearest graveyard.

Oliver swept a hand through his hair. Today, there was nothing else he could do. Go over the lease and see what was going to be ruined by this, maybe. At best, he had to wait for Henry to sober up. And then what? He sighed again. _And then what, indeed._

***** 

It was impossible to not be aware of when Henry was awake. Between the stumbling around, slamming doors, and the overall clattering of silverware, running water, and, on occasion the fire alarm, there was no staying asleep so long as he was awake. Oliver scowled at his alarm clock. It wasn't even nine in the morning, and today was his first day off in a week. Between class and work, he didn't get many days to himself. Not to mention today was apparently the surprise moving day. Maybe drunk Henry wanted to move out, but sober Henry wanted to stay?

Henry swore, and there was the distinct sound of something shattering from the kitchen. On second thought, getting rid of Henry, sober or drunk, it had to be an improvement from this. Friends or not, maybe he was at his threshold of dealing with the world's noisiest roommate. Oliver threw on a pair of jeans, and his comfiest sweater, before walking out. Henry swept up the broken remains of either a plate or a mug, dark circles under his eyes, and his usually perfectly coifed hair was a mess.

"So you're moving out?" Oliver demanded, hopping onto the counter.

"What - how do you -?" Henry startled, dropping the dustpan and sending shards scattering. He swore.

"You told me last night. You also told me how there's some guy named Liam dropping by to help you move out, before he moves in?" Oliver grabbed an apple, taking a satisfying bite out of it as he watched Henry fumble.

"Crap. I don't remember any of that." Henry stared at the empty dustpan in consternation, glancing at Oliver apologetically. "I was going to talk to you about it first, and get a place set up..."

"Well, you told me last night. Did you actually go to school with someone named Liam?"

Henry swept up the loose shards. "I don't think I did."

"That's great, just great!" Oliver said, tossing his apple core into the garbage bin. "Just invite some random guy to move in with me!"

"I was drunker than a skunk's ass, Ollie!" Henry snapped. "I don't remember last night.

Henry loved to improve idioms, whenever he could. Though they were usually better without his improvements.

"That doesn't get me out of this situation. You're still planning on moving out, and as far as I know, he's gonna show up here any second. Being so drunk isn't an excuse, anymore Henry. You can't keep drinking like this. You sold me and my home out to a stranger! What if he's some kind of killer?"

"Look, I'll... explain the situation to him. We have tea, talk it over, if you hate him, I'll... fix it, okay."

By the time they'd cooked breakfast, argued over who was the more annoying roommate, the mysterious Liam still hadn't shown up. Oliver knew there was no way he was the most annoying roommate, not when Henry literally left a trail of trash and destruction in his wake. But Henry would just argue that it was Oliver's attitude and nitpickiness that was the issue. Henry had just started looking through available housing options, when the intercom rang.

"I'm not answering!" Oliver said immediately. "He's supposed to be your friend."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Chicken."

He answered the intercom anyways, and invited the new guy right on up. Which of course was a terrible, terrible thing to do, starting with the fact that the guy could be a serial killer and ending with the fact that the guy was way too hot to actually exist. Oliver closed his mouth and tried to pretend it hadn't just dropped open.

"I'm Liam Harper," said the prospective new roommate, shaking hands with Henry.

He was wearing red plaid over a white shirt and jeans, and he looked like he was ready to walk down the runway. Oliver would be willing to bet Liam could pull off wearing a potato sack, and some artsy fashion designer would still call him a masterpiece. His jaw looked like it had been carved by the angels, and his hair was more curling at the ends, teasing his strong brow. Liam was the kind of guy who walked into a room and left with the number of every gay man, and straight woman -except for the shy ones, but even then, it was impossible to not notice him. Despite all that, he didn't seem like the type of guy to smile much. Like he kept his smiles locked up, and only let them show at the crinkles under his eyes and the twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"We met last night," Henry supplied. "This is my friend, and current roomie, Ollie Reese."

"Oliver," he corrected, offering his hand.

Liam's grip was firm, and his palms uncalloused. "Nice to meet you."

"I gather I must have been pretty drunk last night, because I honestly don't remember meeting you," Henry said, inviting Liam to sit down on the couch. "It's not really a problem, I mean, we've just got a few questions first."

"Oh yeah, I don't mind. I was wondering how your roommate was going to handle this, since you'd mentioned last night he didn't know you wanted to move out."

"So you've heard all my dirty habits, then?" Oliver asked, rolling his eyes. "At least you know what you're in for."

"I don't know, I thought your requests seemed fair," Liam said, shrugging.

"I've been betrayed," Henry announced, dramatically collapsing into his armchair.

Oliver laughed. "Maybe there's a chance for you after all."

"Because finding someone better than Henry was going to be a challenge?" Liam chuckled.

Henry flipped them both off. "You guys just gonna drag me all afternoon or what?"

"Fine, fine, we'll get to the questions, Henry." Oliver shook his head. "What do you do for fun?"

Liam tilted his head to the side, considering. "I do art, lately I've been doing photography but I'm also a fan of pencil-work."

"And for a job?"

"I'm working on my thesis -it's a portfolio, and they'll be hosted in C2 Believe if I get everything done on time. It's a full-time commitment for me, but I saved up for this. Rent won't be a problem."

"Are you a partier? I ask because I work through the weekend, early mornings usually."

"No," Liam said, giving an emphatic shake of his head. "And if I did want to have one, it wouldn't be here. Not with, if I was staying here, all my art supplies and practice pieces. I hate people looking at my art before I'm done with it."

"Even significant others?" Oliver asked carefully.

"Even them. Not that I have anyone right now, so you don't have to worry about overnight guests on that front either."

"What do you want in a roommate?"

Liam blinked. "Someone who can respect my privacy. Someone who isn't a total slob, and would be willing to take on fifty percent of the household chores."

"What about cooking?"

"Cooking?" Liam asked, taken aback. "I, uh, I've been living off takeout."

Oliver shook his head. "Not going to work for me. I love cooking, so I do it whenever I can. Besides, takeout is a huge waste when you aren't getting an income."

"I'm not a very... good cook. I prefer ordering in."

"I don't mind doing the cooking, or helping you get better at it."

Henry laughed, "Yeah, he's totally insistent on it too."

As the oldest of four siblings, Oliver had learned how to cook from a very young age. His parents both worked two jobs, and for a while there, his childhood had consisted mostly of takeout food until he got sick of it. With his mother's supervision, and some of Grandma Reese's recipes, he'd picked up the basics quickly enough. It also wasn't 1960 anymore, and eventually, Henry would appreciate the free lessons.

"So do you guys actually know each other? Because last night Henry was telling me he bumped into an old classmate, who played the sport with sharp sticks."

Liam shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting up. "Yes, we went to the same school until we were fourteen. And I used to play plenty of lacrosse, and hockey, if you want to count either of those as a 'sharp stick.'"

"Hey, last question, and most important," Henry interrupted. "Liam, tell us now, but be honest. Okay? Are you, in fact, a serial killer?"

"I appreciate your concern," Liam said, addressing Oliver. "But no, I'm not prone to violence."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Thanks Henry. You're a real piece of work."

"I'm a piece of sunshine, yes, thank you. So do you have a decision here about Mr. Harper?"

"Sure, I don't think there'll be any problems," Oliver said finally. "He can move in. At least he'll be more helpful than some people."

Henry whooped. "Freedom! I'm free!"

Had he ever really had a choice in the matter? He wondered, looking between the two of them. Liam seemed a quiet kind of pleased like he had relaxed now that his situation was figured out.


	2. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post once a week, and this will have to suffice for next week's post for now as I'm working 12 hours tomorrow. (And I just love feedback) Trying to spread the chapters out so that I have an extra chapter or two if I have a hectic week (between holidays and life in general, it'll eventually happen).

Liam was definitely the opposite of Henry. He was quiet and unobtrusive, spending most of his time in his room. When Oliver was off work, there was seldom ever a plate or piece of furniture out of place. He was utterly mind-boggled. He was used to Henry and his odd hours, his drunken stumbling around, the way he slammed every door and cupboard in the house like it was some kind of compulsion or deep-seated hatred. Liam was none of those things.

A week into their cohabiting, Oliver got off work early. He threw together a nice meal, just to be able to invite Liam to it. He was tired of the heavy silence between them, the quietness of his home suddenly foreign and unnatural after nearly two months of putting up with Henry. He probably should have tried to make Liam feel welcome sooner, but between studying and working, he hadn't put in as much effort as he should have.

Using the last of Henry's pecans (the man seemed to have an endless stash, and the awful habit of stuffing shells into couch cushions), he crusted the chicken, threw it in the oven and got to work on the sweet potatoes and broccoli. Unlike Henry, who it was impossible to keep out of the kitchen, especially while Oliver was cooking, Liam was immune to the sound and smell of food. Should he make a dessert too, or would that be too much? No, no, a dessert would definitely be too much. He just wanted to be friends with the guy; this wasn't a date.

Wait, was the pecan crust too much? Too fancy? Back at home, Lily only ever ate chicken when Oliver had been able to make a crust to hide the texture. By the time she realized it was chicken, it was too late for her to deny liking it. And Noah only ate vegetables if they were roasted with some sort of sugary appeal to them. Even if he'd gone overboard, well, it really hadn't taken that much effort. Surely Liam would be willing to eat some.

By the time dinner was served, Liam still hadn't left his room. Maybe the problem was that Oliver kept expecting him to act like Henry? Maybe he needed a formal invitation. Oliver walked down the hall, took a breath, and knocked. It seemed an eternity before Liam opened the door, shirtless.

"Hey, uh, dinner's ready," Oliver said awkwardly. What if Liam thought he was just bragging? "There's extra, if you want."

Liam blinked. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," Oliver said slowly. "Chicken, and broccoli and sweet potatoes. If you want any."

Liam frowned. "I didn't realize you were cooking -I would have gotten you something."

"It's fine, no worries. I did it because I wanted to." What would he have brought anyways? A bottle of wine?

"I'll be out," and with that, he shut his door.

Oliver walked back to the dining room table, with it's one rickety leg, and mismatched chairs. He sat at his favorite of the pair, and within a few seconds, Liam was striding out of his room, thankfully dressed. Liam carefully sat opposite Oliver, on the less cushioned of the two seats. If he noticed, he didn't say anything.

"It smells great," he said, somewhat stiltedly.

Where was the charming and outgoing Liam from their interview? Had he felt embarrassed when Oliver knocked, or was it because he didn't bring something for a dinner he'd had no way of knowing was going to happen?

"Thanks," Oliver said, charging ahead with his plan. "Sorry I haven't been around much, it's just I work whenever I can get a shift, and then there's class. Today's the first time I've had time to make a real meal."

What had Liam been eating anyways? There hadn't been mystery packages lying around the house, then again, Liam was neater than Henry. It was possible he had just cleaned up after himself. (What a novel thought; a roommate who'd heard of throwing the trash out).

"What work do you do?" Liam asked, cutting his chicken into fine pieces.

"I'm a barista, most of the time," he laughed. "The other times, a student. I work at Lava Java, up by the university campus."

Liam dropped his knife and hurriedly picked it up. "Lava Java?"

"You've heard of it?" Oliver was honestly surprised. It was usually just the university crowd who'd heard of it.

They weren't a very big chain; focused on holistic products, fair trade coffee. They did well with fiery, impassioned university students. Not to mention their many, many vegetarian menu options appealed to most professors. Oliver appreciated the effort their coffee shop put into supporting the environment, economy, and hungry students. For buying what most termed an 'overpriced' coffee, but was quite fair when considering the effort to get the beans, discounts were offered on all food items. Lava Java tried to appeal to everyone. Stoners liked to come in for cupcakes and to stare at the tropically–themed lava lamps. Besides, what university student didn't like sitting in front of retro lava lamps?

"Yeah," Liam said cautiously. "You could say that."

"Okay... Well, if you ever want a free coffee, stop by sometime. I get more discounts than I can use." As a bonus for being an employee, he got more coffee discounts than he could ever use in a lifetime.

If Oliver had expected to make friends with Liam that easily, he was sorely mistaken. Liam seemed to withdraw even further after talking of the coffee shop, and despite what careful prodding questions Oliver voiced, Liam wouldn't answer. He flat out refused the free coffee, scraped his plate into the trash, and all-but slammed his bedroom door behind him.

 _So much for that idea,_ Oliver thought, sighing at his dinner spread.

***** 

"You work until six tomorrow, right?" Liam asked suddenly, just his head visible from his bedroom.

"Yeah, why?"

"I have a friend coming over. Is that..."

"Fine! Totally fine."

Oliver hadn't even known he had friends. That he did, was somehow intimidating and frightening all in one. He'd thought he'd be relieved to know Liam wasn't going stir crazy. In the last three days, he hadn't even seen a strand of Liam's curly hair. It was like he was just gone. Knocking on his door gave no results. Reluctantly, Oliver had stopped trying. They didn't have to be friends, he figured, he'd just thought it would make their living situation easier.

Liam disappeared back into his room, and Oliver didn't know what else to do. He started making extra at dinner and labeling the leftovers with handwritten post-it notes inviting Liam to eat. Every night, the Tupperware was in the same spot, post-it note still attached. Seriously, what was the guy living off of? Dust, and paint fumes? That couldn't be healthy.

What Oliver hadn't expected, however, was reaching to open their door and instead of coming home to an empty apartment, was coming almost face-to-face with a stranger. A very well-dressed stranger. The guy was wearing a collared shirt with a bowtie -who even wore bowties casually? And, standing behind him, a shirtless Liam. If the man had a grudge against clothes, Oliver didn't know why. (He didn't have any plans to start complaining about it though).

"Ah, is it so late, already?" the stranger asked, pulling back to check his watch.

"Lost track of time," Liam said, pulling his shirt back on.

"I'm Oliver," he said, offering his hand to the too–well–dressed stranger. In his plain denim jacket, polo shirt, and jeans he felt considerably underdressed. And coming from work? These were practically the dressiest clothing items he owned.

"Blue." He shook his hand briefly, his grip firm. "You have a lovely home."

"Thanks." The layout of the apartment mostly took the shine; décor was the last thing on Oliver's mind. But the open plan, with sliding windows, and a few strategically placed fake plants brightened the place. It tended to feel like it had more space than it really did, and natural light was seldom an issue.

"Thanks for all your help today, Blue. I'll call you later?" Liam interjected, glancing between the two of them.

"Peace," he replied, offering a two-finger salute to Liam.

"We were just doing art," Liam blurted, once the door had shut behind his friend.

Oliver blinked; it was easy to spot the canvas, the easel, and the paint supplies stretching from one end of the living room to the other. There was a high-quality camera resting on the edge of the coffee table, loose paper with scribbles beside it.

"Cool?" Oliver offered.

What else was he supposed to say? Obviously, they'd been doing art. The evidence was stacked between them; even if he'd been blind, he would have been tripping over it.

Liam's entire expression shuttered; he dropped his gaze, taking in the art supplies and partial sketches that surrounded him. "Sorry," he said haltingly. "I'll get out of your way now."

"You aren't in my way," Oliver said, exasperated. This guy.

Liam was already sorting papers and cleaning up his supplies. "It's your apartment," he countered.

"Our apartment, unless you've decided to stop paying rent." This guy.

"It's your space."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I've spent the last week trying to get you to hang out with me because I'm lonely. You're welcome to share "my" space because it's really ours. You live here too, you pay rent to have more than just a bedroom. Access to the kitchen for one, and the living room. Just don't snoop in my room and we're fine."

Liam turned to him with wide eyes. "I don't want to get in your way."

"You're not going to."

"How do you know?"

How did he know? How did he know. Oliver shook his head and blew out a breath. "I know because I've spent more time and energy worrying about why you -why you don't want to hang out."

"Oh." Liam seemed genuinely stunned.

"The leftovers in the fridge are going to go to waste if it's up to me. I'm only here for dinner half the time, the other times I pick up something from the cafe. I don't really eat breakfasts, and lunch is skippable because I'm usually in class by then. The leftovers are for you.

"I asked if you wanted to watch a movie because I like to throw popcorn at the screen and mock bad writing, or plot holes, or characters when they're being stupid. And it's not the same to do it by myself.

"We can be roommates and never interact, or keep it minimal if that's what you want. But I was kind of looking for a friend. Honestly, I don't have much time to socialize and I'm about three thousand miles from my family. I'm not going to go out to every party just to try and maybe make a few friends. And Henry, as much of a friend as he has been, is by no means very reliable.

"I'm not trying to pull one over your eyes, Liam. I don't care if you do art in here. I don't care if you have an orgy so long as it stays in your room and no one wakes me up. I mean, if you had to, I'd really rather not be here if it happened, but... you live here too."

"I'm not used to this," Liam said slowly. He gestured between them. "I'm sorry, for not taking you up on your hospitality earlier. It's not that I don't want us to interact, I just. I'm used to having the appearance of privacy, but not having it respected. And I like having my own time."

Liam paused. "But not all the time. I wouldn't mind watching a movie if you wanted. I've just been..."

"Avoiding me."

Liam winced. "Not intentionally? It feels like your home here, and I haven't wanted to intrude."

"Make it your own if you need to. I don't care."

It seemed kind of stupid, but all he really wanted was a friend. If having Liam as a friend meant that the whole place needed to be redecorated, Oliver honestly didn't care. He couldn't imagine living with someone he didn't see or at least talk to on a daily basis.

"I'll do better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It really means a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam kept his word. Oliver was both surprised, and more relieved than he had expected, when he got up to find Liam sitting cross-legged on the couch. With sketchbook in hand, and camera sitting beside him, he looked almost at home. Casual, comfortable. Some of that ease dissipated when he realized Oliver had noticed him, but Liam gave the world's smallest wave and went back to his art. It wasn't anything he planned, but once his studying was done, and he put in a few good paragraphs on his next essay, he found himself sitting on his armchair, toying with the tv remote.

"Just throw something on if you're going to," Liam said, not bothering to glance up from his sketchbook. "It won't distract me."

Oliver couldn't remember the last time Liam had spoken. He flicked the television on, and ended up in the middle of an enthralling Netflix documentary about politics and criminals. By the time it was over, Liam had flipped through several different pages, and Oliver switched to the movie at the first of his recommended section.

"You can't do that," Liam said, offended. Sharp grey eyes watched him.

"Uh, I just did."

"You don't even know what this movie's about."

"No, but they know I'll like it. Good enough for me. If I don't like, oh well."

"You'll waste popcorn, throwing it at the screen over what could potentially be a bad movie just because you don't like the genre."

Oliver snorted. "Please. I'm not a film snob."

"Neither am I, but there are some genres I just don't like. Everyone has a genre they don't like."

"Not me. So long as it keeps me entertained, I don't care."

"You can't be serious."

"Dead serious," he insisted. "It's all about the suspense, and the execution. If a movie has those two things down, it can be entertaining."

"Nothing in this world will ever, ever make me watch a musical. And I'm not all that fond of action movies either."

"Action movies are getting pretty copy-pasted these days, but there are some great ones out there. And musicals? Fun. If you don't like musicals, you can't possibly be any fun to take to a party."

Liam rolled his eyes. "Because people just break out in song and dance every time something good happens."

Oliver laughed. "It's about the expression, of their emotions. Often at a fairly deeper level than most movies -reflecting on human nature, or love. Or crime."

"Do you have some kind of obsession with crimes?"

It was a throwaway line, Oliver knew. He didn't have to say anything, but it was quite possibly the first question Liam had asked him. He didn't want to let the opportunity slip by.

"At some level, probably. I am trying to get a degree in criminology."

"Oh," Liam said, like he wasn't surprised. "That makes sense. What're you going to do after?"

"Anything that isn't working in a coffee shop during rush hour."

Liam laughed, a sudden and warm burst of sound. He seemed as surprised by it as Oliver.

"Well, goals, right?" Oliver asked, grinning.

"Aim higher, Ollie, aim a little higher."

***** 

It would become a line between them, anytime Oliver was self-deprecating, or so much as pessimistic. "Aim higher, Ollie, aim a little higher." Sometimes it was a joke, considering Liam was six-foot five-and-a-half. Compared to him, everyone was short. Oliver wasn't short by any means, he was practically six feet tall, but standing next to Liam, he was always a little flustered. Liam wanted something from the cupboard and Oliver was in the way? Liam reached _over him_ to grab it. It was, frankly, intimidating.

Teaching Liam how to cook became an experience. If Oliver hadn't known better, he would have thought the man couldn't even tell his salt from his pepper. It was like he'd never cooked a day in his life, or even been in the same room as someone who was cooking. But Liam wasn't going to admit it if that was the case. Every time Oliver asked, he'd just shrug his broad shoulders and ask what he needed to do next. Liam's dicing skills were so poor, that Oliver was getting to the point of asking if he was using his dominant hand. His little brother Noah loved to dawdle, and he usually accomplished wasting time by trying to do everything with his non-dominant hand much to everyone's frustration.

But Liam's incompetence seemed genuine. Not even Noah, at the peak of his "I'm going to be ambidextrous" phase, was half as bad as Liam. At least Liam was willing to help, which was more than could be said of Noah who used to duck out of the kitchen or actually do his homework in order to avoid dinner chores. Liam let Oliver correct him, explain to him what he'd done wrong, and then show him how to do it properly. It became a common enough occurrence for them to not eat until eight or nine o'clock at night because cooking with Liam was overly involved. But he never complained.

"You're very good at this," Liam said, one night as he stood next to the oven.

"I have three younger siblings," Oliver said, flipping a page in his textbook. "And no one tells you this, but kids under the age of ten are just impossible when they're hungry. So I learned how to cook pretty quick."

"Wow," Liam said. "So many siblings. What was it like?"

"Noisy."

Noah, in particular, used to throw temper tantrums if dinner wasn't served on time, and Lily liked to join in by beating her silverware against the table. Jaimie was usually doing his best to help, as next oldest, but sometimes he would sing for them about staging a revolution. They never did, as Oliver was the oldest, and he could cook more than boxed mac and cheese. Even at the tender ages of eight and five, Lily and Noah didn't want to be stuck with Jaimie's mac and cheese.

"I can't imagine."

"Only child?"

"No, I have a sister. She's a year younger than me, but we didn't spend much time together." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She had a lot of after-school programs."

The Reese kids didn't do much in the way of clubs, because Oliver was the one picking them up and dropping them off at school as soon as he was old enough to do it on his own. He taught Lily how to cartwheel, he taught Jaimie how to use chopsticks to impress his first girlfriend, and he taught Noah how to whistle. The after-school activities the Reese kids got, were taught by Oliver. Oliver who sometimes spent half the night awake, trying to learn how to cartwheel, or studying how to teach a seven-year-old how to whistle so kids would stop picking on him. Oliver was the president of the skills-you-don't-think-you-need club.

Even in college. Henry hadn't known how to use a washing machine, and he had been helpless at cooking. Not quite as bad as Liam was, but nowhere near capable of cooking without using boxes. Oliver eventually decided to take pity on Liam and let the man try cooking from a box, but even then, he was checking for instructions every thirty seconds. It didn't help that he barely knew where anything in the kitchen was, so he was constantly checking all the drawers and then rechecking them for whatever he needed.

"I didn't even know you had a sister," Oliver said, tactfully not mentioning that he hadn't realized Liam had a family. Obviously, he had to have, or how else would he have survived with such poor cooking skills? Other than his debilitating skills in the kitchen, he seemed oddly put together. Like he knew what he was doing. Oliver wouldn't have questioned it, the idea that Liam had just popped up fully formed.

"Got a set of parents too," Liam said dryly, glancing at Oliver knowingly.

"Funny that," he said, hiding his grin. "Doesn't everyone?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't be the first to think I didn't have any."

"You're just so... self-assured."

Liam shook his head. "Yeah, I was, before you made me prove just how useless I am in a kitchen!"

Oliver laughed. "Just imagine the new confidence when you're actually half decent at any of this."

"How long have you been cooking?" he asked shrewdly.

"Like, for ten years?" Probably a little over that, really. He was pretty sure he started cooking when he was eleven. Not quite old enough to manage dinners on his own, but supervised dinners, and handling his own lunches was more than reasonable.

"Yeah, let me just master this Bolognese recipe in a couple of months. Then I can go back to being an arrogant prick."

"Whoa, hey, I never said that!"

Liam glanced at him over his shoulder. "Aim higher, Ollie, aim higher."

Oliver snorted. "You don't have half of Henry's attitude, alright? So slow down on the insults."

Liam did everything with a quiet confidence, like he knew what he needed to do. Even learning how to dice, or how to cook a sauce. He had this quiet intensity about him, like he was listening to every instruction as though it held the keys to the universe. And once he understood, it was fascinating to watch him apply the lesson, even if he was clumsy. He didn't set out to prove Oliver wrong, to try and change the method to incorporate cooler-looking knife flailing techniques. Liam didn't brag about being the best chopper, and he didn't insist Oliver was wrong when he offered feedback.

Watching Liam draw was even better than watching him learn how to cook. He didn't spend much time in the living room with his sketchbooks, but occasionally, when Oliver had his textbooks spread out for a study session, Liam would fold himself onto the couch. It was easy to see how he poured his heart and soul into those pages, the way he was dedicated to his craft. His pale eyes skimming the page, hand a flurry of motion, and then suddenly stopping, a short pause, a brief erase, and slow, steady lines. Oliver never asked to see his art, or tried to steal a glance of them, but studying was somehow more relaxing with Liam's steady penciling.

"Is it supposed to look like this?" Liam asked apprehensively, lifting a scoop of the tomato sauce out.

"It sure is. We're going to be drowning our spaghetti with this."

Liam rolled his eyes. "No, really, Ollie? What're sauces for?"

Liam was also a sarcastic little shit at the most opportune times. Oliver wished he had the kind of timing Liam did.

"Oh, you know what to do with the rest of it? Fly at her." He smirked, flipping a page in his textbook.

Liam sighed, short and impatient. But much to Oliver's amusement, he didn't ask for any help. Granted the sauce was mostly finished, and there was no way Liam could get spaghetti noodles wrong. Well, maybe there was. Oliver glanced over the pages of the textbook, trying to absorb information and keep an eye on Liam's pasta attempts. By the time Liam was serving dinner, the pasta was just barely al dente, and the sauce was terrific.

"It's a little overdone, isn't it?" Liam asked softly, frowning at his fork full of pasta.

"It's not burned, or completely mush, so I'll give you a pass," Oliver teased. "The first time my youngest brother cooked it, we nearly had to throw out the pot because the spaghetti was burned so bad."

Liam laughed. "I guess it's edible," he said, taking another bite.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiring Music Playlist  
> Part One -Can I Be Him by James Bay


End file.
